


hate you 'til forever

by perennial



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, John Hughes movie AU, Non-Canon Relationship, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-16 04:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennial/pseuds/perennial
Summary: Orson Krennic is the worst neighbor in the history of neighbors.or,The John Hughes high school prom AU.





	hate you 'til forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [partialto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partialto/gifts).

> [chvrches // forever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LZb6EeCdO0)
> 
> partialto has made [the world’s most delightful jynnic high school crush/prom night AU vid](https://partialto.tumblr.com/post/184377514248/the-john-hughes-movie-au-absolutely-no-one-asked). if this fic doesn’t satisfy your john hughes cravings, her vid definitely will.

Cassian picks Jyn up at her house, which is a logical if unfortunate move. Logical because he's her date and has the more reliable vehicle; unfortunate because they walk out onto the porch to the sight of Douchebag Krennic's entire posse posing in a line in front of a sleek white limo. The girls all have one corsaged hand on a jutting hip, and all the boys press into their dates from behind, holding their waists like they're about to launch them into the air to perform a triple salchow. Supercilious smiles are rampant. It's _nauseating_.

"Oh, there's Orson!" says her father. "Want to run over there and get a big group picture?"

Jyn makes a strangled noise. "_No_, Dad."

Orson Krennic is the worst neighbor in the history of neighbors. He makes Calvin's volleys against Susie look tame by comparison. Jyn has ten years of shared history as proof. Ten years of him letting the air out of her bike tires and drop-kicking her lunch at the bus stop and dumping wet, rotting leaves in her treehouse to ferment while she and her father are away on vacation, ten years of him writing rude words in the snow on the back windshield of her car, ten years of him playing spooky recordings outside her window at night, ten years of him sauntering around with his posse of popped-collar Vineyard Vines douchebags and shallow manicured girlfriends, smirking at her from behind his Ray-Bans that she just _knows_ are knock-offs but has never been able to prove.

It's not that she doesn't fight back. She just hasn't come up with anything that's ever managed to get him to stop. Or even broken his stride, really. He, however, is a ceaseless fount of miserable creativity. Sometimes it gets so bad that she has to remind herself that Susie Derkins probably became the first female President and Calvin wound up living in a box on the side of the road with Hobbes as a pillow. It's not like it's a bad thing that she doesn't share his natural aptitude for awfulness.

She is escaping him in three months, two weeks, and five days. College means many things to many people; for Jyn, it means a blissful Krennic-free existence. They graduate in a week, and then she and her father are roadtripping around Yellowstone and the Rockies, and then: _college_. Douchebag Krennic is going to Stanford, of course. Jyn is going to MIT. That's right, Massachusetts, baby! All the way on the other side of the country! It will be literally impossible to get any farther away from him within the bounds of the continental US.

But first she has to get through prom.

-

They go to Steak 'n Shake for dinner, because Cassian's tutoring gig doesn't pay any better than Jyn's after-hours receptionist job. Whatever sit-down restaurant Krennic's limo is parked in front of is not a place Jyn is likely to ever enter in her life. She wonders how he's swinging that. Maybe she should stop turning her nose up at his peon position at the Apple store.

"You've got to let go of the Apple store thing," says Cassian. "They turned you down because you went off about the biodegradability of airpods in your interview, not because 'they only hire you if you look like a constipated Young Republican.'"

"I'm over it. Why would I want to work for a company so stupid it hired him over me?"

Cassian says, "Here we go."

"I'd like to work for a company with at least a modicum of intelligence, not to mention integrity—"

Sudden relief floods Cassian's face. He begins waving wildly. Jyn turns around in her seat to watch Baze and Chirrut approach. They are decked out in matching powder blue tuxedos.

"What's up, 1970!" Jyn grins and hugs them. She is ordered to twirl so they can see her dress: an A-line waterfall of black that shifts in the light to catch the whole color spectrum in its hidden metallic threads.

Bodhi is right on their heels, himself in a red tux with a swagger to match. "I guess we should go to the party," says Cassian. "Bodhi looks too good to just show off to the crowd at Steak 'n Shake."

Jyn tsks at him. "Don't let Pamlo hear that. She'll think she doesn't have a chance anymore."

"If she ever actually cares that much, I'll think I've died and gone to heaven."

"I second Jyn," says Bodhi. "But I do look hot. That's not vanity, it was for Chimwe's benefit. I'm just keeping him up to speed. We all look hot, Chimwe. Especially me."

Chirrut says, "I already knew I looked hot, but thank you. That was really thoughtful of you."

"Good grief," says Baze. "Let's get out of here before a stranger accidentally pays them a compliment and we have to stay here all night."

-

"Holy disco wonderland, Batman," says Jyn. They stand in the middle of the gymnasium floor, heads craned backwards toward the mirrorball-bedecked ceiling.

"I count twelve," says Cassian.

Jyn and Baze say, "Same." Bodhi looks put out, re-cranes his neck, and starts counting out loud.

"Guys!" yells a familiar voice. They swivel toward K (short for Katu, the Icelandic exchange student in total xenophobic denial that in a matter of days he'll be flying back to his home country), who has somehow managed to find a gunpowder tux with a metallic sheen.

"What?" says Cassian, in classic black and white. "Was there a sale on all the colors of the rainbow at the tuxedo store?"

Bodhi says, "K, are you tall enough to reach the mirrorballs? I want to take one home as a souvenir."

"Incoming," Baze mutters. Jyn follows his gaze toward the entrance and her stomach sours. Krennic's posse has arrived. There he is, always at the forefront, chatting up the chaperones taking his ticket, arms busy and expressive. He's in a _blinding_ snow-white tux, which catches all the light in the room like the moon lit up by the sun. His date looks with on more patience than is her usual wont.

It had taken a grand total of twelve minutes for the news to spread through the entire cafeteria that Leia Organa and Han Solo had broken up and Leia was going to prom with Krennic instead. Jyn has always liked Leia—they bonded sophomore year over being the only two girls in their Western Civilization history class, and Jyn still has paradoxically fond associations with the Dark Ages. Leia asks interesting questions in class and is possibly the first student council president in school history to actually do anything of value for the student body ("Free parking," students from other schools say reverently. "You have _free parking?_")—but they've never become friendly outside of the classroom, thanks to Leia's clique including the same boy Jyn keeps a very intentional distance from at all times. One more mark in the tally of reasons Orson Krennic should hurry up and fall off the face of the earth.

Even as she watches, Leia leans over and mutters something to him. His face lights up and he laughs, so full and hearty that Leia laughs back at him. Jyn can't hear it over the crowd and music, but it's his expression that she's fixated on. He hardly ever smiles like that, a genuine smile without a hint of a smirk. She had forgotten he _could_.

"Tarkers brought _Phasma?_" howls Bodhi. "Doesn't he know she'll kill him before the night is over?"

Jyn pokes Cassian, who is watching Sali Pamlo with an expression of besotted misery. "Wedge made her laugh," he groans.

"Let's go find some punch. And maybe a sugar cookie."

He cheers up once the music starts in earnest, even if his face is permanently turned toward one corner of the room. The other boys do their part to distract him, too: bringing forbidden food and drink to him on the dancefloor, pretending they are David Attenborough observing the Teenagers In Their Native Habitat, forcing him to participate in the mini dance-offs he secretly loves.

Prom is fun. It's not all that different from prom Junior year, though there are perhaps a few more mirrorballs. Jyn and the boys spend most of the night on the dancefloor, only leaving for water and restroom breaks. They dance the fast songs and the slow. They know every step of every line dance. Jyn turns her back on the corner containing a white splotch and throws herself into the music until she's laughing and sweating and half her chignon is falling down her neck.

The bathroom is full of girls fixing their false eyelashes and crying over the boys who are ignoring them. Jyn, disheveled and single, thinks _just one more week of this_ and leans her head against the stall wall and wonders if maybe she's had too much faith in the powers of attraction where natural beauty and personality are involved. It's an uncharacteristic, nasty little thought that she shakes away before it can take root, but it does sink her mood a little bit, and she's glad to exit the bathroom and find the music has stopped.

A spotlight hits the microphone stand on the stage next to the dancefloor. Principal Mothma is wearing a fabulous white sequined getup that makes her look like a go-go dancer. She yells, "And now the time you've all been waiting for! Here are the members of your prom court!"

Jyn can see Mr. Showman and his ridiculous whiteout tux lingering near but-not-too-obviously-near the stage, his expression hopeful. She snorts. Orson Krennic is popular but he's not that popular. Not to mention, who ever actually _cares_ about this? Are there people who actually lie awake at night, envisioning the moment they're called up on that stage? Well, there's one, apparently. It's the exact opposite of anything Jyn has ever wanted from this school. If she were to somehow get voted into prom court, she'd be mortified. She's okay with flying just under the radar. She wears a lot of black but she's never been goth enough for the goths, she takes drama classes but has never been in a school production, she does gymnastics and martial arts but they're club sports so all the glory goes to the basketball and volleyball players. She does a lot of local volunteer work and she studies and she hangs out with her friends and she avoids the asshole next door. That's pretty much all the _involvement_ she has time for.

To no one's surprise, Leia Organa is crowned Prom Queen. To everyone's delight except the two people involved, Leia's twin brother Luke is crowned Prom King, and with that, Operation Prom Court: Twin Thrones shifts from an event the majority of the senior class has been hoping for since their freshman year to an accomplishment for the yearbooks.

Their dance is surprisingly sweet: a big bright spot of sibling affection cutting through all the hormones crowding the dancefloor. Someone must have put a bug in the deejay's ear, because their song is 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough' instead of a love song. The girls watching make _aww_ faces at each other and the boys mimic them, making comically melodramatic _aww_ faces at each other, and it ends with every single person in the room singing along with Tammi Terrell and Marvin Gaye. Cassian and Baze loop their arms around Jyn and howl _to keep me from getting to you_ into her ears and she thinks _just one more week of this_ and suddenly she's fighting tears.

After that the King and Queen dance with their respective dates. Jyn watches Krennic spin Leia around the floor. Good grief. He has decked out his look-at-me tux with an _opera cape_. She rolls her eyes and her gaze falls on Han, who is standing at the very back of the crowd. The look on his face brings her up short. It's sharp and raw as a bone snapped in half. Then the dance ends and, like the flip of a switch, his face goes blank.

A Chvrches song starts up and the crowd dissolves back into its previous positions throughout the gym. The boys head toward the refreshments table. Jyn hears someone shout her name.

Leia is making a beeline for her, Krennic in tow. Jyn's stomach lurches. Cassian, who was walking away but heard the shout, stops and slides back into place beside her.

The newly-crowned queen sweeps her into a hug, exclaiming over her dress, announcing that they have to hang out over the summer before everyone leaves for college. Cassian and Krennic look on in silence. The bass notes make the floor vibrate.

"Leia," Jyn says in her ear, "have you talked to Han lately?"

Leia's face closes. "Never again, if I can help it. I am _so_ much better off without him. I don't need a guy who thinks the world owes him something just because he has a slightly-functioning brain. It's not _my_ fault he missed the cutoff for the financial aid package he needed. Maybe he should have _studied_ instead of playing video games with Chu all the time."

"Screw those guys," Krennic says. "Just looking for a handout." Jyn frowns at him, puzzled.

Cassian says, "What, you don't believe in financial aid?"

"I believe good things come to those who deserve it."

She wonders why he's saying this. They're scholarship kids, always have been, both of them. As if her single-parent father could afford to send her to MIT on his salary. And the Krennics certainly aren't made of money. Mrs. Krennic buys her clothes at Kohl's. Mr. Krennic drives a Honda Accord.

That's probably one reason they've always been so competitive. _Valedictorian_ on a college application is like a golden ticket, and it's the reason she'll be packing up and moving out to Cambridge Mass. in a few months, though her acceptance letter was admittedly (if only slightly) less satisfying than the sweet victory of parking herself on the top rung and knocking _him_ down to salutatorian. It's been that way since they were eight years old and playing Around the World in class, steamrolling all their other classmates until confronted with each other. A real life Anne Shirley vs. Gilbert Blythe, egging each other on to greater heights out of pure spite. Except, you know, none of that enemies-to-soulmates happily ever after nonsense. He's not going to become the doctor of some tiny town in Canada where she fills a house with plummy cakes and a requisite pair of twins.

Leia says, "Come on, aren't you two dancing? Let's dance!"

"No thanks," says Cassian, setting a protective hand on the small of Jyn's back. "I don't like this song."

"Oh, _Cassian!_" Leia says impatiently. Undeterred by their lack of enthusiasm, she grabs his arm and whirls away with him into the mass on the dancefloor. Her abandoned date doesn't move.

Jyn crosses her arms. "Krennic."

"Erso," he drawls.

"Am I invited to the afterparty performance of _Phantom_?"

He says, "Yeah. We haven't locked down a location yet but I'll let you know when we do. They're holding a front row seat for you," and for an instant she kind of wishes she could take back the time she told him she would hate him until forever.

It doesn't mean she _won't_. She is _definitely_ going to hate him forever. But. Sometimes she wishes she didn't have to hate him quite so vehemently. There are times—few and far between, hardly worth remembering—when he can be, dare she think the word, charming. Rare as a blue moon, mind. Not enough to make her not hate him. Just—maybe not hate him with so much force. Like the time her father had shoulder replacement surgery and Orson mowed their grass all summer without once being asked. Or the way he gives her a peace sign across the driveway whenever they're both getting into their cars at the same time. Or the way she can crack a joke and he's able to ping back the perfect reply without batting an eyelash.

It doesn't change the fact that he used to steal her Halloween candy or poured blue paint all over her the summer she turned fourteen and got her first almost-bikini or that he'll steal food off of their grill every time they leave the grill unattended. It just takes so much effort to be constantly, actively on the offense against him.

_He_ has embraced the effort, clearly. He has a knack for conflict. He meets her zingers with an entire battalion, always ready for her, almost _eager_, as though she's given him an excuse to never look at her with even the slightest pretense of civility.

'Party in the USA' starts up. "Gotta get back out there." He indicates the dancefloor with his head. He turns and pauses, looks back at her expectantly. "You coming with?"

"Well. No," says Jyn. "Not together. That would be kind of weird."

"Weird?"

"I mean. We hate each other."

There's a peculiar look on his face. He says, "I don't hate you."

"Jyn!" bellows Baze. He emerges out of the darkness encircling the dancefloor and grabs her arm. "They're playing our song!" Chirrut, Bodhi, and K are hot on his heels. Jyn finds herself swept up and carried into the throng.

She laughs at them and jumps into the dance. She sings along and smiles and spins around and glances out of the corner of her eye for a flash of white, but whenever she finds it, he is always facing the other direction.

-

The music ends and the lights go up. The partiers are herded out of the gym and into the muggy cricketsong outside.

Jyn's feet hurt and her head aches. She's completely exhausted and she suspects she smells bad. She and the boys pile into the bed of Cassian's truck and lay down, letting the night wind rush over them as he speeds through the neighborhood and rolls through every single stop sign, as though he's one of the lucky drivers who never get caught doing that, instead of what he really is, which is someone who is well on his way to a sixth ticket for it.

He drops her off at her house, per her request. Her friends depart for Sonic. "I want to see if this," Bodhi gestures to his tux, "will get me a freebie lap around the parking lot in those roller skates."

Jyn wishes him luck and hugs everyone goodnight. She carries her shoes by the straps and dangles the wristlet of her clutch by her fingertips and walks slowly up the driveway. Her house and the Krennics' are dark except for the porch lights.

A soft night breeze teases her fallen curls. The broad shadowed face of the half-moon is bright in the sky. She slips around the house to the back yard.

The swingset her father built when she was six will withstand armageddon. She swings halfheartedly, pushing off the ground and dropping down, anchoring herself with her feet and making broad U-loops. She cranes her head backward and locates Casseopeia, Vega, the Seven Sisters.

Movement in her periphery. She turns her head and finds Orson Krennic walking over the grass toward her, bow tie undone and looped around his neck, one hand in his trouser pocket. Her traitor heart gives one great bound, so high and hard her chest hurts.

He settles into the empty swing without asking for permission to join her. There's a papery crumpling sound and after a moment he pulls a soft taco and a packet of taco sauce out of a fast food bag and hands them to her. They eat in companionable silence, watching the blinking paths of the fireflies in the grove of pines behind Jyn's house.

Jyn swallows. "Where's your date?"

He rips open another packet of taco sauce and starts re-dousing the uneaten remainder of his taco in careful lines. She's never _seen_ someone ingest so much taco sauce. His sodium levels must be off the charts. "She and Han made up between the Cupid shuffle and Old Town Road."

"Shame. You two were so cute together."

"Where's yours?"

"Went to Sonic."

"Woah, holy crazy afterparty, Batman."

"Speak for yourself."

"I've been wrangling those idiots for six hours straight. You can't expect me to not escape given the chance." He stuffs the last third of his taco into his gaping teenage maw.

She leans her temple against the swing chain. "Did you lose your cape?"

"Eh," he says, fishing another taco out of the bag. "It looked kind of stupid."

Which means his stupid friends called it stupid enough times that he believed them.

"That's a shame."

He says, "You liked it?"

"I liked that you liked it." She balls up her taco wrapper and gently throws it at him. "The only person whose opinions about your life matter is you, you know."

"Yeah, well. Easy for you to say." He picks up the wrapper she threw and puts it in the bag. "When people only ever think good things about you, it's probably easier to believe the good things you think about yourself." She starts to protest, but he isn't done. "Unless you lie. So that they keep thinking good things about you. And you don't let anyone down. Except yourself."

She says softly, "Orson?"

"I'm not going to Stanford. I lied." He kicks at the grass. "I didn't qualify for the scholarship package. We can't afford it."

"That _sucks_," she says. It really does. She knows what it would have meant to him to go: as much as it would have meant to her. "So what are you going to do?"

"Maybe it's a sign. Maybe it's the universe warning me that I won't be a good doctor, and to not even try."

"Or it's showing you how badly you want this, and testing you to see how hard you'll fight to get it," she says, before registering _doctor_. She frowns.

"I got a pretty good offer from the University of Toronto. It'll be a pain to figure out all the international stuff, but—it sounds maybe kind of incredible."

Oh Lord. _Twins don't run in my family_ she thinks hysterically, and realizes too late she's whispering it out loud.

He gives her a strange look. "Okay? Listen, you can't tell anyone, got it? I've been playing the California card for way too long to stop now. I can't tell them I'm trading Stanford for _Canada_."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine, liar."

"I'm not going to _keep_ lying. I _am_ going to tell people. Just not the teachers."

"Sure, liar. Isn't Leia going to Stanford? What will she have to say about all this?"

"It has no bearing. We're not together, remember? Everyone knows Leia only went with me tonight because she wanted to piss off Han. I went with her because my first choice was taken."

Jyn's head snaps up. "Who?"

"You really don't know? It's kind of obvious."

"I don't listen to gossip, Krennic. Especially not about _you_."

"If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

"Come on. Come on! You can't open this thread of gossip and just _abandon_ it halfway through."

"Yes I can. Believe it or not, I don't have a humiliation kink, and this would be like an all-you-can-eat buffet for you."

"You know I'm not going to let this go. Tell me or I'll play 'Never Gonna Give You Up' outside your window in the middle of the night, every night."

"Good luck. I'm stronger than Rick Astley."

"Okay, compromise: 20 Questions."

He wavers. She watches him try to gauge the risk. "Fine."

"Does she run with your crowd?"

"No."

"_Never?_"

"Never. That counts as two."

"Jackass. Is she in our grade?"

"Yes."

"Did she go to elementary school with us?"

"Uh. Most of it."

"Does she live in our neighborhood?—Wait, wait! I'm changing it. Did she ever ride our bus?"

"Yes."

"Band geek?"

"No."

"StuCo?"

"No," vehemently.

"Athlete?"

"Yes."

"With a ball or without?"

"You didn't ask the question right."

"You are so picky. With a ball?"

"No."

"Ahhh-_ha!_ Vina."

"No."

"But she lives down the block and she swims!"

"Still no."

"Sanja."

"No."

"Cami."

"No. You'll never get it. I should have put money on this."

"Arella. Namalé. Inez."

"You aren't even trying anymore."

"Just _tell_ me."

"_You_ started this game!"

"But that's everyone."

"If it was everyone, you'd have gotten it."

"Okay." She mentally drives from bus stop to bus stop. "That's everyone."

"It's not everyone, Jyn."

"Either you answered a question wrong or you purposely misled me—"

He loses all his patience in one giant rush. The next second he's on his feet in front of her, grabbing her swing's chains, crowding out the moonlight. "Or _you_ aren't asking the right questions. Like. Does she look so freaking beautiful tonight that every time I see her I lose track of space and time like I'm in a bad chick flick but it's my actual real life? Yes. Is she the kind of smart that's exciting, like, you know she's going to do amazing things, cure cancer or invent whatever comes after the internet or—save the _world_, I don't know how, but I know she will? Yes. Is she kind, so unbelievably genuinely _kind_, on a level most people will never get to if they try for an entire lifetime? Yes. And _funny_—that dry, clever funny that's so rarely actually funny but she _is_, if I crack a joke she answers back perfectly—Yes, I can't remember the question but Yes. Does being around her make me happy like nobody I've ever known? Yes. Did I spend way too long treating her like a bratty little sister and realize too late that she's all I want? _Yes_."

Her heart is beating loud and fast. A roaring train-engine-in-a-tornado sound fills her head. "Oh," she says in a small voice. "Her."

"Her," he agrees.

She stares at the trees, mind racing. He sits in his swing again, back into the same easy posture from before, but the hand that grips the chain is white-knuckled.

She says, "Her loss."

It takes him a moment to answer. "You think so?"

"Yeah." She glances at him. He's staring forward; it's hard to make out his expression in the dark. "Actually… you were her first choice too." It's almost blinding, the relief that comes with finally admitting it to herself.

"I don't believe that for even a split second. Everyone's waiting for you and Andor to get together."

"That is so not happening. Cassian has been in love with Sali Pamlo for—" She almost says _as long as I've hated you_, realizing in the nick of time that this will only succeed in driving him out of the swing and into his own house—"years."

His voice changes: turns low and intense, all humor gone. "What about you?"

"He's my best friend. He's like my brother. I've never felt anything for him beyond that. But _you_ never even asked me! You never even hinted!"

"I wasted all my time trying to figure out how to ask in a way that would get you to say yes. Next thing I knew, Andor had jumped in."

"Well," she says. "I don't have a date to the afterparty."

She can feel him pause; she can hear him trying to figure out if she really wants to go somewhere else.

"I heard the guy who plays the Phantom is really hot in real life," she prompts.

He relaxes. "Yes," he says. "It's extremely true," and she laughs.

He stands up and holds his hands out to her. She lays hers in his and he draws her to him—close, _close_, she can smell his cologne and sweat and that boy-smell that's been glued to him since puberty, and his jacket is soft against her bare arms and he's warm and bendable and she can hear him breathing endearingly fast.

He holds one of her hands and slides the other one to the small of her back like they're waltzing. They rotate in a slow circle while he sings 'All I Ask of You' in her ear, quiet so as not to wake any sleeping parents (he knows every word, who is this boy? She's rapidly realizing she's never known him at all). It's not the right character's song, and he sings both parts of the duet, Christine's in falsetto, which means she's half-melting and half-laughing, and the thing is: they fit each other as though custom made.

He says, "I definitely do not hate you, Jyn Erso. Not even a little."

Then he kisses her.

Jyn kisses him back. Definitely more than a little.

She wonders how close Toronto is to Massachusetts. She has never been to Canada. She has a feeling more than a little of the great white north is in her future, too. Darn the Gilbert Blythes of the world, she thinks, smiling against Orson's mouth. Anne never stood a chance.


End file.
